Ashes of the Dragon Queen
by MarinaMontenegro
Summary: An alternate ending to Game of Thrones, starting in the middle of the final episode. CW for Character Death!
1. Jon

Jon

"You are my queen, now and always," Jon Snow promised. She stood in front of him, her white hair decorated with braids. She was happy - Jon could see it in her blue eyes. He wondered, briefly, if his eyes betrayed his emotions the same way. _Could she see the pain I feel?_ If she did, she would be worried. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. For the final time, Jon kissed her back. His eyes were shut, his mouth still pressed to hers, as he unsheathed his sword. He heard it's metal, but she must not have. She trusted him. She kissed him harder, pulled him closer.

Jon plunged the blade into her abdomen, flinching as he did. Her kiss froze until, very slowly, she pulled away, looking down at her wound. There was nothing else for Jon to do. Her eyes rose up to meet his. Confused, betrayed, upset? He couldn't read her eyes anymore. Perhaps it was a mix of the three. He almost apologized, but he stopped himself. He only stood, his arms around her, without anything to say. Wide eyed, Daenerys fell.

Catching her body, Jon lowered her gently to the ground. Her breaths were short and quick; her mouth moved as if to speak but there was no sound. Blood appeared at the corner of her lips, then at her nose. The life faded from her slowly.

Daenerys fell limp in his arms. Unmoving, unbreathing. Only then did Jon realize that he had not been breathing himself. He took a gasp of air. His quick breaths turned to sobs. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her chest, holding her close to him. "I'm sorry."

He looked down at his sword, the handle bearing a wolf, the symbol of Winterfell, but it was not Winterfell that brought this action to him. It was not the words of Tyrion Lannister, or even the warnings of his sisters, Arya and Sansa. With all those voices in his ears, Jon was surprised to find that the loudest of all was Jeor Mormont. It had to be seven years ago now that Jeor spoke in front of the Night's Watch. Seven years ago that Jon stood beside Sam and so many others, most of whom are dead now. Yet it was Jeor's words that echoed in Jon's mind: "_A man of the Night's Watch lives his life for the realm._"

"I am a shield that guards the realms of men," Jon whispered his pledge to himself. That was the vow he had made, the one he planned to live by. He had a duty to the realm. Jon looked up again to the ashy sky. The realm was burning still. In the streets of this very city, Jon had witnessed the men, the women, the children burning, burning at his Queen's command, after the bells had rung. It shouldn't have come to this. They wanted Varys to be wrong, but Varys put the realm first, and that what Jon had sworn to do too. It was his promise to the Night's Watch that drove his sword into Daenerys.

Below the Great Hall, Jon could hear Drogon stirring. The dragon let out a screech and stretched his wings. He would have to go now, Jon knew. If he stayed, he would die. A new thought filled Jon with horror: _Is the dragon controllable? _Perhaps he had just created a new problem for the realm. After all, when has death truly ever solved any of this kingdom's problems? Without Danerys, what could stop the beast from burning down village after village, from Sunspear to Castle Black?

Another cry from Drogon echoed along what was left of the Red Keeps walls, and again Jon told himself to go, leave Daenerys here before the dragon finds his mother dead in Jon's arms. Jon didn't move. He stayed on his knees, holding her body.

The ground beneath him shook as Drogon climbed the wall. The dragon's head stretched close to Jon, taking in the scene and finally, with no time left to leave, Jon set her body down gently atop the ash. Drogon growled, staring down Jon as he stood up. It was too late for Jon to take his sword back, but what chance would a sword have against a dragon?

The beast sniffed his mother, nudging her body with his nose. Soft cries escaped Drogon until his face rose with anger. He bared his many sharp teeth at Jon, growling, and his mouth opened. The thought to run did not cross Jon's mind. First, he had seen the power of dragon fire and knew that there was no point in running now. The flames would reach him. In addition to that though, he stood ready to face his crimes. Jon had murdered the queen, and now he would burn for it.

The dragon screamed to the sky first, his large wings raised, and then he looked back down at Jon. Jon's eyes lowered, looking straight ahead. He didn't want to see the fire strike, he only waited for it. The hiss of flames came first, followed by warmth. The fire surrounded him, engulfing him. His clothes, the black leather armor he wore, caught fire and shriveled until they fell to the floor. And yet, Jon stood, feeling only warmth.

Eventually, Drogon's fire stopped coming. The flames still surrounded him, growing smaller now. He looked down at his own hands first. They were black with soot, but unharmed. At his feet, Daenerys lay still, untouched by Drogon's fire. Jon looked to the still smoky sky. "Why?" Jon called out. "Why spare me again? I'm ready to die! I've done my duty." Jon fell to his knees in front of Daenerys. "I have nothing left to give this realm."

Drogon curled up beside Daenerys, his nose laying inches away from her body. The dragon lay there looking sadly at his dead mother and Jon, naked, knelt in the ashes to cry over her as well.

He didn't hear Arya approach until she spoke. "Stand up," Arya commanded. She held out her own cloak, putting it over his shoulders.

Jon glanced over his shoulder, looking at where she stood. "Stand up," Arya repeated, her dark eyes shifting over the room.

"How long were you watching?" Jon asked, unmoving.

"I wanted to make sure she didn't kill you," Arya replied. She looked down at Daenerys. "Stand up," Arya said again. "We can't stay here."

"You go," Jon said. "I'll face the consequences for my actions when they come for me."


	2. Sansa

Sansa

The fire had died out during the night. They were low on firewood now. _And food, and medicine, _Sansa mentally checked off the list. The cold mornings were becoming more frequent. Sansa was waiting under her soft blankets, watching the light outside grow brighter before dressing for the day. Today, she braided her own hair. She would need to hire a new maid soon. Her last maid was one of the many killed by the wights in the catacombs, but Sansa tried not to think about that.

"Another day," Sansa said to herself. She took a deep breath, pulling open her chamber door. Winterfell was quiet this early. Her footsteps down the staircase echoed off the old stone. Many years ago in this hallway, her mother had chased a waddling Rickon across the red carpet, so young he could barely walk. Robb caught him, lifting the toddler up to his shoulders laughing. Rickon's tiny feet could fit on the windowsill, and Robb would hold him up to the window to look out at the courtyard. Their breath would fog up the glass, and Rickon's small fingers would draw shapes. That was then, though, when they were young.

Today, the hall was dark. The candles that lined the walls had gone out sometime ago. There wasn't the fog of a child's breath on the window panes. She walked down the hallway alone, and she tried not to think about that. Winterfell was full of enough ghosts, there was no need to spend time conjuring up more. Instead, Sansa watched her own breath escape into the cool winter air. Every cold hallway would have a memory, some worse than others.

"Good morning, m'lady!" The new kitchen servant jumped up as Sansa entered. Sansa gave her a nod as a greeting. They had hired the girl yesterday to replace the young man who had volunteered to go south with Jon. Myna was the daughter of the blacksmith, excited for a job inside the castle, no doubt. Plump with soft curls and rosy cheeks. If she worked hard, she could marry above her rank, working here. Myna seemed flustered but she busied herself with setting a place for Sansa to eat, and then hurried off to fetch the food.

Like most mornings, Brienne was already in the dining hall. Brienne simply stood, hand on sword, near the entrance, until Sansa arrived. _How long must she wait,_ Sansa thought. By now, it had become so routine that Sansa hardly questioned it.

"Any word?" Sansa asked.

"Not yet, my lady." Brienne straighten her posture. She looked tired. _She must have waited all night for a raven. _

"Brienne, come sit beside me." Sansa gestured to the seat beside her. Brienne joined Sansa at the table. Myna came out with a wooden tray, putting a small portion of porridge in front of Sansa with a cup of tea beside it.

"A plate for Brienne, too," Sansa said. Myna looked up with worried eyes.

"There isn't-" Brienne started to protest, but Sansa only nodded to Myna, who's eyes fell back to the floor as she hurried off to the kitchen again. One extra ration of food won't starve the city.

"You'll need your strength," Sansa declared. "The world's not at peace yet." Brienne didn't reply, she only looked sadly to the door. "There will be word soon," Sansa said.

"Yes," Brienne agreed.

"But you want more than word," Sansa suggested. "You want to ride south and fight alongside the others."

"No, my lady," Brienne replied. Myna returned with another plate, this one with an even smaller ration of porridge.

"We are out of the tea, m'lady," Myna said, keeping her head low. She scurried out of the room before Sansa could reply. She would improve though, learn to wait to be dismissed. Sansa turned back to Brienne.

"Is this about Jamie then?" Sansa guessed.

Brienne took a spoonful of her breakfast. "We'll have lost, regardless of the outcome." Brienne said quietly.

Sansa nodded. "Jon seems to feel differently." Sansa's voice fell even quieter. "With Arya having gone south as well, she'll make sure any outcome favors the North."

"Winterfell will continue to fight Cersei, with depleted resources and a small, exhausted army, unless Cersei falls. Then, we'd be breaking the knees of our men to bow to the Dragon Queen." Brienne stood up from the table. "Thank you, for the extra ration. I will check with Maester Wolkan to see if there has been an update."

"Go rest," Sansa said. "Any news from today I'll have brought directly to me. I promise to send for you if there's anything."

Brienne turned to Sansa and bowed. "As you wish, my lady." Her head still low towards the floor, a few quick coughs escaped her throat, followed by a few harsh ones. Brienne, sword drawn, looking about the room.

"Don't, _kof,_ eat that," Brienne said firmly. She shoved the porridge off the table with Sansa's tea. The glass plates and cup shattered on the ground, spilling the food. "Podrick," Brienne called before another coughing fit.

From outside the door, Brienne's squire came rushing in, the winter wind close behind him, with his sword drawn. Brienne pointed toward the kitchen doors. "The kitchen maid, _kof_. Go." Brienne shouted.

Sansa rose up from her seat, hurrying around the table. "What is -"

Her words were cut off as Brienne fell to her knees. Brienne's face turned red as her body shook with coughs. Podrick returned in the room, dragging Myna by the arm behind him. She flailed in his grasp, but the girl didn't have the strength to escape.

Sansa stood up straight, glaring at the woman. "Tell me the cure."

"I -" Myna started.

"_Now!"_ Sansa shouted. Even as she spoke the words, she knew there was nothing the girl could do. She has seen this poison before. Brienne's face was turning red and bloated, just as Joffrey's had.

"I don't have one!" Myna cried. "Please."

"Kill her," Sansa replied. "Then fetch the maester. Quickly!"

Brienne held up her hand, signaling Podrick to stop. Between coughs, Brienne managed to choke out the words "Hu - hu. Who -"

Sansa ran to the doors of the hall and pushed them open, bracing herself for the cold. The harsh wind against her face, Sansa stepped over the frozen snow. The castle was silent, the grounds hardly awake for the day. Only one woman walked through the courtyard, an older woman carrying a heavy basket. "You!" Sansa called. She ran to the woman, knocking the woven basket to the ground. "Listen closely. You need to find the maester and tell him that the Strangler Poison has infected someone, right in there." Sansa pointed towards the hall. "You need to _run_, do you understand?"

The woman, with her eyes wide, grabbed her skirts and pulled them above her ankles, hurrying off through the snow.

Sansa didn't watch her leave. She turned and hurried back inside the hall. Rushing past the long wooden benches and tables, Sansa fell to her knees at Brienne's side. "Help is coming," Sansa said as she took Brienne's hand. "Try to stay calm. Slow breaths, if you can." Brienne was shaking on the floor, her breaths had become uneven gasps making loud, throaty sounds. "You've served my family very well," Sansa said quietly. She should have said something more. She was supposed to have eloquent words to say, something comforting. The time for words was running out. "You are the most honored Knight of Winterfell, Ser Brienne of Tarth. History will know that, always."

Brienne's hand pulled away from Sansa, holding her own throat. It was painful, Sansa knew that already. She hadn't watched Joffrey die. She left so quickly once it started, but she knew it was an awful death. Sansa tried not to think about that. Brienne's eyes became unfocused, her body lifeless. Minutes passed as no one moved, except Myna, who continue to attempt to free herself from Podrick's grasp.

The doors flew open as the maester rushed in with many bottles clanging together in his arms. "Stay back," he called to Sansa.

"It was in the porridge," Sansa said quietly. She slid away from Brienne, then stood up. "Podrick, lock her up tightly. I'll question her myself. Keep a firm guard on her too."

Podrick left the room silently, dragging Myna behind him.

"She's dead," Maester Wolkan announced.

"She's dead," Sansa repeated. Her eyes glanced towards the exit. Suddenly, she stood. Sansa shook out her dress and pulled her furs closer. "Please excuse me," Sansa said quietly. She couldn't be upset here. The people would worry if she was. "I'll be in my chambers if news comes from the south. I am otherwise not to be disturbed."

"My lady," Maester Wolkan said, interrupting Sansa's exit. "I apologize, a raven had just come in." He held two scrolls out to her.

Sansa took them both as she departed. She hurried up the stairwell, down the corridor, and past the ghosts of her brothers. The thought of danger within these walls hadn't crossed her mind until she reached her room, relieved to find it empty. Sansa shut the door behind her and fastened the lock tight, taking a deep breath. Her room had already been tidied since she had left it only an hour ago. Her night clothes removed for washing, her bed sheets neatly made up, and the sunlight shone through the window, warming the otherwise cool winter air.

Sansa took a seat in front of the fire, laying the scrolls out on her lap. The first scroll was short, addressed to the Lady of Winterfell and signed by Varys.

"_As long as there is another claim to the throne, no matter how the boy refuses it, the wolves cannot be safe from the dragons. _

_Long live King Aegon Targaryen." _

A warning, just hours too late. Sansa held the scroll for a while, reading it over again until she was certain of every word, then she threw it into the fireplace. Fresh wood had been placed for kindling. Sansa lit it carefully, watching the scroll crumble to ash.

The second scroll was longer, signed from Jon Snow, but it wasn't his hand that wrote it. The scroll was written by someone in Jon's army, at his command most likely, to ensure the news quickly reached the North.

The Last War had ended. King's Landing had been burned to ashes. Cersei was dead. Daenerys Targaryen was the Queen, and Sansa was summoned to bend the knee.

Sansa threw the second scroll into the fire as well. She would have time to think about the North's stance later. For now, she could only think of Brienne, another ghost of the halls of Winterfell.


End file.
